236
CAIRO TO DAMASCUS
him, keeping him running here and there until the armies of
Egypt, Jordan, Syria, Iraq, Lebanon, and fighters from Yemen
and Saudi Arabia and the Moslem countries of North Africa
join the Jehad." He paused. "Then you will see slaughter,
Artour. Then you will see us march to Tel Aviv."
"How long will it take us, Moustafa?"
"Thirty days—not thirty-one—but thirty days to conquer
Tel Aviv!"
I wasn't too sure of this, but I said insh'allah anyway.
I MEET THE PATRIARCH
IN THE midst of this growing turmoil, I had a personal problem. If, despite Moustafa's confidence in Allah, the forces of
war should turn against us, what would I do with my suitcase,
packed with my precious notes and the invaluable film record
of my experiences so far? My suitcase was stored in our arsenal,
where my bloodthirsty friend kept vigil; if the Jews forced us
to flee, it would be lost. I decided the safest place for it would
be the Vank, the Armenian monastery in the Old City, which
was built like a fortress, and whose sanctity had always been
respected.
One morning, therefore, I trudged over with it, gave it
into the keeping of an Armenian family, and took the opportunity to pay my respects to the Patriarch, spiritual shepherd of some ten thousand Armenians in Palestine. I was
ushered up a narrow flight of steps to his reception-room. It
was large, rectangular, thickly carpeted, lined with upholstered
chairs. On the walls were stately paintings and photographs of
the princes of my church. Here one seemed to rise above the
tumult outside and step into a calm and reverential world.
I faced Guregh II Israelian. He was a short man, wearing
gold-rimmed glasses, with a long, patriarchal beard that was
black in the upper portion, graying toward the tip, and com-